Movement is the hunter’s friend. Whether it was a well-concealed pig or turkey, or one of the many human targets Cain had stalked in the Middle East. Even the smallest movement would lift the prey from the background, revealing its location and direction of travel. Cain was well schooled in this.
Harper, on the other hand, saw more. She saw patterns with amazing clarity. More to the point, breaks in the pattern. That’s why Cain always took her with him on turkey hunts. She didn’t need for the bird to make a move. She could distinguish its form from even the best camouflage.
Like now.
They had zigzagged though several neighborhoods, even some that had already been searched. No black SUV, most houses and cabins dark and quiet. Then they headed back down the hill, toward The Crossroads.
“Stop,” Harper said.
“What?” Cain, who had taken over the driving, braked The Rig and eased to the shoulder.
“Turn around. Go back to that turnout.”
Cain did. He pulled into the gravel area, obviously a place to overlook one of the many valleys. He stopped.
“There.” Harper pointed.
“What?”
“The tracks.”
Cain looked where she pointed. The angle of the headlamps revealed parallel depressions in the gravel and the grass beyond.
They climbed out and followed the path, careful to stay to one side. Cain directed his mini Maglite along the ground ahead of them. The grass wasn’t disrupted or gouged, but rather compressed into two strips that angled down the gentle slope and over the edge. That’s what Harper had seen.
“A vehicle came through here,” Harper said.
“An accident?” Cain asked.
“Maybe. But, these don’t look like skid marks. Too clean.”
They reached the edge, where the ground fell away. A snapped sapling and several mangled shrubs were visible a few feet down. Cain moved to his left and directed the Maglite beam along the slope. Something reflective caught his attention. Maybe fifty feet down.
“There’s something down there.”
“What?”
“Can’t tell for sure but I suspect it’s the vehicle that did this. I’m going down.”
Cain slipped his flashlight into his pocket, tightened his jacket, and tugged on his gloves. He side-stepped down the incline, digging his boot soles in to keep from slipping. He used the trees for handholds. Only took a few minutes and he arrived at a black sedan, its front end mashed against a pine tree, hood crumpled and bowed upward, windshield spiderwebbed. Twenty feet further down the slope an active creek cascaded over rocky shallows and continued downhill.
“Got a vehicle,” he shouted back up to Harper. He pulled out his Maglite and scanned the windows. No one seated inside. He moved along the driver’s side. When he reached the rear window he angled the beam inside. A body.
He yanked open the door. The man was face down. He rolled him over. Duckworth. Entry wound to his right forehead. Cold to the touch, no carotid pulse.
He straightened, pulled out the satellite phone, and flipped it open.
“Yeah,” Harper said.
“This is Cassie,” Cassie said.
“I found Duckworth. He’s dead. Gunshot.”
He heard an intake of breath from Cassie. “Oh no,” she said. “Where?”
“In his car. Looks like someone shot him, then rolled his car down a ravine. It smashed into a tree near a creek.”
“We’re at the turnout along Highway 43,” Harper said. “Just past Aspen Road. You’ll see our rig.”
“I know where you are. On my way.”
That’s when Cain heard the shotgun discharge.
CHAPTER 51
Fury. That’s what rippled through Dalton’s veins. Water dripped from his clothing as he stood over Jessie, now laying on the sofa where Myrick had placed him. He paced, marking the floor with his muddy boot prints.
“Worthless son-of-a-bitch.” He whirled back toward the motionless Jessie, snatched his Glock from the small of his back, and pressed it against Jessie’s cheek. “I should kill your stupid ass.” He ground his teeth until they hurt. He spun and stomped away.
They had chased Buck for a mile, maybe more. After the shotgun blast that killed Rocco, Dalton thought they had him. Based on the sound of the gun’s discharge, they knew where he was and it wasn’t far away. But then, he seemed to evaporate. Buck’s good luck was that another band of heavy showers swept through, making hearing his footfalls impossible and plunging the forest back into darkness. Worse, the clock was now ticking. If he made it to help, they would come this way and sooner or later find the cabin. As isolated as it was, it was findable. For sure, the roads up this way would be crawling with cops, which meant he had to get Dennie on the road to Memphis and he and the others had to disappear and find another hole to hide in. Reluctantly, Dalton gave up the chase. They trudged back up the hill.
Dalton returned to where Jessie lay and again nudged his face with the gun muzzle. No response. “I’d love to shoot his ass and leave him here.”
“Better to let Frankie handle him, don’t you think?” Navarro said.
Dalton nodded. “It won’t be pretty.”
“Nothing he don’t deserve.”
“What about that asshole doctor? He killed my dog,” Harris said.
“What?” Dalton said, turning toward him. “You’re worried about a fucking dog?”
“But Rocco…”
“You can get another dog for Christ’s sake.” Dalton scratched his chin with the gun muzzle. “We got bigger problems. We have to assume he’ll find help and will do that pretty quickly. They’ll be coming.”
“Does he know how to find this place?” Harris asked.
“Maybe. He can at least get them in the right neighborhood. Before that happens, we need to get the fuck out of here.”
“What about the others? Jason and the girl?”
“Let’s get Dennie and Jessie in the SUV. Myrick will head for Memphis with them. We’ll get down the hill, find another place to hang, and then plan what’s next.”
“Which is?” Navarro asked.
“Getting rid of Jason and the girl. Finding that doctor and doing the same.”
“They’ll have him under wraps.”
“Ain’t no wraps tight enough. We’ll find him.”
It took a good ten minutes to get Dennie and Jessie into the back of Dalton’s SUV. They watched
